Matthews just shrugs - that seems to be all he's capable of offering - and he gestures Geoffrey after him to sign himself out, which he does with the unquestionable rote of someone who knows procedure through and through. That's good. That's a good sign that Fraser hasn't totally lost his mind as well as forgotten his name, right?
And he's free. Free apart from the fact that he apparently has the company of this scraggy, tired looking blonde guy. There's dry gel flaking in his bed-mussed hair, and his eyes are a little wild - actually there's something dangerous in there - and when Geoffrey gets closer he can smell beer on his breath. Which is a laugh--he's one to talk, he'd lost track of the last two inches of his bottle of vodka somewhere near the duck pond.
But he's not bad looking, this blonde guy. Maybe he'll humor him for a while, see where this is going. God, shouldn't he know this man? Nothing - literally nothing - was coming to mind. Which was ridiculous because the guy obviously knew him. It was probably just the drink, right? It'd come back to him, he just had to give himself some time. Besides, the police officer had called him, and he probably wouldn't release anyone into a total stranger's custody by accident, right?
So he stops in front of Ray for just a moment, trying to get the measure of him, trying to recognise something in the other man's eyes--or be recognised. He saw frustration there (which was a good sign, because anyone who knew him ought to be frustrated with him most of the time), and maybe horror, restraint, a hint of something like caring. All unsurprising: he was here to pick up his friend from the police station at who-knew-when in the morning, that took a certain kind of love.
Whatever it was he saw in his savior, it was enough, because after a moment Geoffrey beamed and patted him on the cheek with one hand: ]
My knight in shining leather.
[ Whoosh, he's gone, swanning ahead of Ray out through the waiting room door and into the corridor beyond, and then heading down it the wrong way--the way he'd been brought in, i.e. past the front desk, rather than the opposite direction - the direction Benton Fraser would take - down the stairs and out into the courtyard car park behind the station where Ray usually parked.
But a terrible sense of direction was normal for the chronically inebriated, right? ]
no subject
Matthews just shrugs - that seems to be all he's capable of offering - and he gestures Geoffrey after him to sign himself out, which he does with the unquestionable rote of someone who knows procedure through and through. That's good. That's a good sign that Fraser hasn't totally lost his mind as well as forgotten his name, right?
And he's free. Free apart from the fact that he apparently has the company of this scraggy, tired looking blonde guy. There's dry gel flaking in his bed-mussed hair, and his eyes are a little wild - actually there's something dangerous in there - and when Geoffrey gets closer he can smell beer on his breath. Which is a laugh--he's one to talk, he'd lost track of the last two inches of his bottle of vodka somewhere near the duck pond.
But he's not bad looking, this blonde guy. Maybe he'll humor him for a while, see where this is going. God, shouldn't he know this man? Nothing - literally nothing - was coming to mind. Which was ridiculous because the guy obviously knew him. It was probably just the drink, right? It'd come back to him, he just had to give himself some time. Besides, the police officer had called him, and he probably wouldn't release anyone into a total stranger's custody by accident, right?
So he stops in front of Ray for just a moment, trying to get the measure of him, trying to recognise something in the other man's eyes--or be recognised. He saw frustration there (which was a good sign, because anyone who knew him ought to be frustrated with him most of the time), and maybe horror, restraint, a hint of something like caring. All unsurprising: he was here to pick up his friend from the police station at who-knew-when in the morning, that took a certain kind of love.
Whatever it was he saw in his savior, it was enough, because after a moment Geoffrey beamed and patted him on the cheek with one hand: ]
My knight in shining leather.
[ Whoosh, he's gone, swanning ahead of Ray out through the waiting room door and into the corridor beyond, and then heading down it the wrong way--the way he'd been brought in, i.e. past the front desk, rather than the opposite direction - the direction Benton Fraser would take - down the stairs and out into the courtyard car park behind the station where Ray usually parked.
But a terrible sense of direction was normal for the chronically inebriated, right? ]